A novel is a place where past and present versions of one person can co-exist, and in his fifth novel Andrew O'Hagan movingly explores the way the "flotsam" of a life can rise to the surface as old age and memory go about their strange and poignant work. We meet 82-year-old Anne, who lives in sheltered accommodation in Saltcoats, Ayrshire. With the onset of dementia "an entire version of herself [is] moving into the shade", but her life's mysteries are waiting to be uncovered.
Anne's estranged daughter, Alice, tells her doctor she wishes she could spend half an hour with her mother as a young woman. "She hasn't gone," he replies. "Quite the opposite. She's coming back."
Anne, it transpires, was a leading light in documentary photography in the 1960s, devoted to capturing the everyday but also delving into "a world beyond the obvious" to see its truth. Her grandson Luke was a thoughtful, bookish boy who, to everyone's surprise, joined the army. Captain Luke Campbell of the 1st Royal Western Fusiliers is returning home from Afghanistan, at the depth of his disillusion, to see the woman who "helped him to believe that a readiness for art was equal to a capacity for life". The question is, what happened to cut her off from a future full of possibility?
Despite the pull of Anne's story, the book's most engaging moments are in Afghanistan. The soldiers, average age 18, wait for action in the unbearable heat of a troop carrier, where the Scottish and Scouse vernaculars permeate the banter of young men raised on Xbox war games. O'Hagan's narrator refers to these scathingly as recruitment tools, pulling the youngsters to war by their thumbs. Gaming is their shadowy other life; it leads them from their own dark rooms to the scorching desert sun.
In Kandahar, in a fug of heat and drugs, they are shepherded by people within their ranks and without into an abominable situation made more awful because the reader sees it coming from a long way off.